Although Ramage did not use his title in the Service, this sheet of paper was becoming (was already?) a legal document, so he signed simply: "Ramage".

"Ah yes," Shirley said jovially, "you fellows with titles don't have so much writing to do as we more common folk."

Ramage smiled. "Our tailors charge us twice as much, so in the long run I'm sure you gain."

"Ah yes, innkeepers too, no doubt," Shirley said sympathetically. "Even ostlers would expect half a guinea tip from a lord, whereas an impoverished post-captain like me in the lower half of the list gets away with a shilling."

Yes, Ramage thought to himself, you look the sort of fellow who would tip a shilling when half a guinea was appropriate: no doubt you would also take mustard with mutton.

"Well, is that all?" Shirley inquired.

"You are so obliging," Ramage said hypocritically and hating himself for it, "that there are two other things I'd like to get cleared up while we're at it. Three things, actually."

"You have only to ask," Shirley said expansively.

"Your orders, what are they?"

"You have no right to ask, of course, but as there is nothing particularly secret about them, I've no objection to telling you. I am taking despatches to the Admiralty from the commanders-in-chief at Barbados and Jamaica."

How the devil could one dislike a man like this? Ramage asked himself. He was not a man one liked in the sense of making him a friend, but he was thoughtful and courteous (when he was not raking you: do not forget that).

Ramage nodded his thanks as Shirley said: "And the second thing? You mentioned three, if I remember correctly. "

"Yes. I would like my surgeon to examine you. I presume you would have no objection to that?"

"Ah, back we go to removing a captain from the command of his ship. You know it can only be done on medical grounds, so it follows your sawbones has to make an appearance."

"Yes, but my surgeon is far from being a 'sawbones' - he was in a practice in Wimpole Street before entering the King's Service."

"He must have done something very dreadful to cause the change, then," Shirley commented. "Still, I'll agree - as long as he doesn't bleed me. I won't be bled. Achieves nothing, bleeding a sick man; just drains the life from him. Remember Ramage, if you want to kill something you cut its throat to let the blood run out. Yet these doctors try to say it does human beings good. Rubbish, sheer rubbish! Hold on to your blood, never know when you'll need it. Very well, now what's the third on your list?"

"I would like to leave Lieutenant Wagstaffe on board with you."

"I'll be glad to have him on board. I'm sure he'll find the experience invaluable. Experience - it's everything for the young naval officer. Battles, boarding parties, hurricanes, wooding and watering - everything!"

Ramage glanced at Wagstaffe who, red-faced but apparently more amused than angry, was writing with great concentration.

"Speaking of surgeons," Shirley said, "always remember one thing." His voice was solemn and Ramage expected he was about to go back on his agreement to be examined by Bowen. "Two things, rather, and stand by them no matter what the surgeons might say. Three things, in fact. There are only three sovereign remedies. Just three. Mind you, the sawbones don't like to admit it because knowing the three sovereign remedies puts them out of business. Would you care to know them?"

Anything, Ramage thought, which throws any light on what is going on in your head and keeps you agreeable to Bowen's examination. "I would regard it as a favour on your part," he said.

Shirley nodded agreeably. "Yes, well, for any common distemper - upset of the bowels, for example, then rhubarb. I carry a good supply of dried sticks and use it ground up and dissolved in water. In wine, if you prefer it. For headaches, general malaise, muscular pains - brimstone and molasses. Fresh mixed and well stirred, a large spoon four times a day. And last, for any agues, feverishness, or trembling of the extremities, then the bark. I know that many surgeons use the bark. I expect they have heard of my success with it."

Shirley ran his thumbs under the collar of his coat, as if he was going to turn it up because of a chill wind, but then Ramage realized he had done it several times and it was a nervous gesture, the only thing that Shirley did that was not absolutely normal.

"Thank you," Ramage said politely, "I'll make sure my surgeon has supplies of those items. Now," he said as he stood up, "we'll leave you in your cabin while I have a chat with your officers."

"Ah yes, indeed," Shirley said with unexpected heartiness. "You don't need my inhibiting presence, do you!"

"No," Ramage agreed because there was no point in disguising the fact that no one in the ship would dare say more than "Good day" with that black-coated figure pacing up and down, like a crow on the lawn presaging a death in the family.

It was humid and almost dark down in the Jason's gunroom, which reeked of the sickly-sweet smell of bilges that needed pumping. The officers and warrant officers, Ramage quickly realized, were still sulking from yesterday, although at first it was not obvious whether their resentment was directed at Shirley or against Ramage, who had freed them from their arrest and put them back on normal watches.

The atmosphere, Ramage decided, was not ripe for either comfort or the exchange of confidences. "Join me on the fo'c'sle," he told Ridley, noting that the man still had not shaved.

TheJason's bow lifted and fell as she stretched along astern of the convoy under topsails only. The wind was light and she needed little canvas set to keep up with the merchant ships, which were jogging along under all plain sail and, Ramage noted, in good formation.

Ramage found some shade made by the foretopsail and waited with Aitken and Wagstaffe.

"What do you make of this Ridley fellow, sir?" Wagstaffe asked.

"Scared stiff of something," Ramage said. "Reminds me of an animal trapped in a cage. Eyes flicking from side to side, looking for a way out. Apart from that, he looks intelligent ... or, rather, not too stupid."

Wagstaffe laughed as he saw the man coming up the ladder. "I'm glad you qualified that, sir; I was thinking he got this job because his father knows Captain Shirley."

"His tailor, perhaps," Aitken said, and the other two laughed. It was one of the oldest jokes in the Navy that a certain type of captain would pay for his uniforms, shirts and hose by taking the tailor's son or nephew to sea as a midshipman (officially a captain's servant) - a gesture which cost him nothing since he was allowed to take a certain number and he did not pay them, nor did they act as servants.

Ridley walked up and stopped in front of Ramage, saluting with a listless gesture, as though all spirit and energy had been drained out of him.

Ramage looked him up and down carefully, noting the unshaven face, uncombed hair, creased breeches and jacket, soiled stock.

"Is that your usual rig? Do you always sleep in full uniform and has the carpenter borrowed your razor to split wood? Is there a shortage of soap in the ship?"

Ramage spoke quietly but contemptuously, his voice intended deliberately to provoke the man, who straightened his shoulders and sighed. Ramage recognized it as a sigh of despair and ignored it.

"I'm sorry sir. I didn't expect you, otherwise I'd have tidied myself up."

Ramage took the watch from his fob pocket, looked at it and slowly put it back. "Is the Jason's first lieutenant usually still en déshabilléat this time of the day?"

"Sir, these are not normal times for the Jason's officers," Ridley muttered plaintively, as though that sentence alone explained his appearance.

"In what way?" Ramage said, encouragingly.